


The No-Good, Very Bad, Not 'Nice' Hunter

by loquaciouslass



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Choking, Comedy, Gratuitous use of victorian euphemisms, Manhandling, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other, Swearing, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 02:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11637093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loquaciouslass/pseuds/loquaciouslass
Summary: The Good Hunter has never been nice. Kind, yes, but always looking out for pleasure, first and foremost.Gehrman is about to find out exactly how far that goes.





	The No-Good, Very Bad, Not 'Nice' Hunter

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write monster fucking. Here is monster fucking.

**The No Good, Very Bad, Not-Nice Hunter**

It wasn’t a shock to see the latest hunter come back with eyes unfocused and blood all over their lower half. At first, Gehrman had thought it the same as the others- inexperienced and flung into the setting sun like a fawn finding its legs. Nothing to worry about, for every hunter got over it sooner or later- that, or they went mad. Sometimes both. 

He didn’t tend to concern himself if it was just going mad. As long as they got the job done. But this one…

There’d been no talk of eyes, yet, or strange voices calling to them. They hadn’t stared at the doll with heaving breath. There was just the blood, the eyes, and the occasional flash of a grin as likely to drive someone to frenzy as the moon itself. In other words, uncommon, but not unheard of. 

So Gehrman paid them no mind, except for the occasional advice, until they burst into the workshop with some  _ interesting _ pale fluid on their barely-there shirt, half their trousers torn off, and a tit hanging out. He raised an eyebrow as they stumbled forwards, swearing, before collapsing to the floor in-front of him. He sniffed and prodded them with his good foot. 

“I did tell you to use The Doll at your leisure. She is very unlikely to break all your fingers.”

The Hunter didn’t answer. They just stretched out (making all their clothes squelch) and rolled in the pile of books and papers at Gehrman’s feet, giggling. It was like watching a dog revel in its own shit. It smelt worse, somehow. Gehrman sighed. “What did you do?”

The Hunter waved their arms a little, eventually hitting on ‘How to Pick Up Fair Maidens.’ They picked it between their fingers and brushed through the pages, before whatever happened to them caught up with them again and they dropped it on their face. Gehrman waited. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Snoring. 

_ Snoring. _

He kicked them in the sides. 

“Whazzat? Fuck, shit- ouch, my fucking  _ arse _ -”

“What did you  _ do _ out there?

“Shit- shit, fuck-”

“No, I can  _ guess _ that you rolled in shit and tried to do the bum dance with someone, what I’m  _ asking _ is  _ how _ and  _ who _ .”

“Can you just- fucking  _ ouch _ \- give me a second to get my legs all working again? I came in through the back, didn’t want to bother the nice young lady-”

“I told you, she’s a doll. You can use her as you want.”

“Fuck off, I’m trying to be a good person and keep my...shit, what did mum call them- oh yeah, keep my devil’s urges to the lobster pots and seamstresses of the night.”

“Charming.”

The Hunter spat red on the floor and rubbed their mouth. “Ugh. Look, if you’re that desperate for material in the wank-bank, give me a minute so I can look less like the back-end of a pig with cholera.” 

Gehrman’s lip curled. “I am  _ not _ going to pull the sausage to whatever  _ you _ were doing!”

“And I didn’t just have wild alien sex that would make God himself weep for me, I’ll be back in a jiffy.” 

 

The Hunter sat opposite him with a new set of clothes on, considerably less blood, and tits put away. They’d burst in as Gehrman was rearranging his books, sitting themselves atop the workshop table.

“Right, so, what happened- I hope you’re ready for this. This is a wild tale. This is a tale of love, loss, and having an  _ amazing _ time discovering the limits of the human anus. If you feel like you’re going to have a heart attack, wheel yourself outside and cry to the gods, because I was a university student once and I  _ will _ finish my speeches!” 

“Get on with it.”

“You don’t have any love for drama, do you?”

“Drama usually means there’s a hunter that needs to be put down. You’re edging towards that.”

“Fine, just trying to inject some humour into the situation. So, last time I went out, you told me to try and find a chalice…”

 

_ The glass shattered like a thousand wailing spirits stubbing their toes. Against the silence of the Upper Cathedral Ward, it was deafening- almost as deafening as the beastly roars from their first night out. The Hunter swore and shook off their blade, spattering blood on the plants and bodies that lay, twitching, on the ground. They huffed. “Little bastards. Football hooligans are harder than you lot.” _

_ Their back begged to differ and the Hunter hissed as a sharp twinge went up it. Shit. One of them must’ve got a lucky hit in. No time to complain though- complaining would have to wait until they found someone that understood human words, rather than the rolling waves and dripping water that tended to fill their head now. It was rising, even, rushing in their ears. They slapped the side of their head. “Enough of that, knobhead. I’m not doing this again because you want to,” they waved their arms up at the sky, like they were trying to swat a heavenly fly, “do...whatever it is you want to. I’m not that clear.”  _

_ Silence.  _

_ “Right, thank you. You can do that mobile sea-sickness when I’m done kicking the shit out of whoever’s next.”  _

_ The clanking lift shuddered before it started. Down, down, and into the darkness they went, shivering as the cool condensation dripped down the back of their neck. The world itself telling them to run.  _

_ They snorted and stepped past the gate. The water reflected soft white light all around the altar, splitting the stone into diamonds, lighting it up like moonlight in after rain.  _

_ And there was the source. A pearl brought to life, eerie and white as any creature of the deep sea, speaking in waves that washed over the Hunter. It was an angel- thin wings catching its light and the tentacles granting it a halo; almost kneeling with the way its flesh folded over itself. The Hunter stepped into the water, watching it ripple.  _

_ The thing turned its head, just a little, before returning to its mumbling. It was making the water shake.  _

_ Alright. Non-aggressive. That worked.  _

_ It knew they were there. The Hunter breathed out, taking slow but deliberate steps towards the creature. It was bent over something, occasionally lighting up a little more, before dimming out. The Hunter came closer and peered through the mess of wings and tentacles.  _

_ The thing looked familiar- weird face, too many eyes, covered in plants- _

_ “Oh, shit- Rom!”  _

_ They clapped their hands over their mouth. The thing turned around. Its eyes were an endless mass of algae-covered pools all embedded in the guts of a freshly slaughtered pig. And also into the Hunter, because it was staring very, very hard at them. They raised their hands.  _

_ “Er, oops, pardon me, as you were. I just...remembered. That I have an appointment to go to. With...your...pal?” _

_ A tentacle snapped out and grabbed their neck, tightening hard and cutting their breath outright. They gasped but it was useless- between the endless sea of eyes all staring hard, the oxygen failing fast, the now  _ very distracting  _ wetness that was starting to spread- _

_ They kicked out. At the last second, the creature let go.  _

_ The Hunter wheezed. Sweet, sweet air! They had landed in the pool with a thud and a splash, freezing water spreading over their body, and their vision was filled with the now-angry angel.  _

_ Its tentacles slithered around them once more, just brushing the throat but pulling them off the ground. They shivered.  _

_ Around the throat it went once more. Slower, this time. Slow enough to feel it, properly- the unnatural smoothness, slick and cold, twisting tighter and tighter until their throat closed once more.  _

_ And, shit- there was the wetness again. The warmth, rolling in their belly like a warm tide.  _

_ It didn’t drop them when its tentacle let up, this time. They stayed, panting, in its grasp.  _

_ “Hey,” they said, huffing, smile creeping onto their face, “Any chance I can give you some anatomy pointers?” _

 

“Wait, wait,” Gehrman said, cutting over the Hunter. “You looked at Ebrietas- Ebrietas, who could crush you in her grasp- and you tried  _ pick-up lines _ ?”

“I mean...that’s what the book said.”

“I don’t think  _ any _ Great One can be considered a  _ Fair Maiden _ !”

“Really? We’ll have to differ there, because  _ I _ thought otherwise. Anyway-”

 

_ She was just so  _ smooth. _ The Hunter had had their share of sexual escapades, usually late at night and involving a deeply religious fellow chasing them down afterwards, like truth coming out of her well to shame mankind. They’d felt coarse sailor’s skin, leathery old folks and scarred soldiers; prostitutes with pock-marks and nuns that were soft all over. But none of that compared to Ebrietas, cool and smooth, like a creature carved from melting ice dancing under their hands.  _

_ Or like being touched by ice. Her tentacles roamed, one always wrapped around their waist and another hanging loose by their neck, tightening now and then, but the rest were swarming. Under clothes and underpants, twisting each nipple into a hard pebble, pinching harder with each gasp of air. It was a game, almost- if the Hunter pressed so hard, then she’d pull tight or rub harder. The Hunter’s grip fell slack, she would coax out those twisting fingers by teasing their clit, easing off as the Hunter’s cries turned desperate.  _

_ Their hips bucked in the air as Ebrietas stilled the tentacle pressed along their slit, fingers making indents into the slick flesh. The Hunter whined, muscles tensing and breath catching as the others continued to explore. They dug in tight and forced the words out, hard.  _

_ “Listen- listen you- aah-” they sucked in the air, “ _ please _ let me come, please, I’ll- you can go deeper, choke me, slam me into the ground, just  _ quit with the edging _.”  _

_ No response but the appendages sliding down their back, dipping between their cheeks and circling the opening. The Hunter clenched, tight.  _

_ Ebrietas tightened her grip on their throat. The mumbling came out in full force, dripping into their ears, through their brain and work its way down their spine. It was honey and liquid sunshine, seeping through each nerve until the Hunter let out a deep moan. They unravelled. The ridgeless tentacle started to edge its way inside, slow and steady, stretching them inch by inch as Ebrietas directed her attention and voice right on their clit. Slower, slower, it moved- the Hunter stole gasps from the air, an occasional interruption of Ebrietas’ melodic tone.  _

_ For a while, that was the only sound. The water rippling, the desperate breaths, slick slapping against the skin. The tentacles, rubbing and fondling, as more drifted up their legs to join the first- spreading, wide, pushing up against their walls. The Hunter cried out, something obscene and garbled.  _

_ It was so filling. The pressure almost burnt, and the tentacles pushed against their clit felt like they were humming, the one close to their throat cutting off their breath each time they came close. Tears gathered in the corners of their eyes. They were strung out like fish on a drying rack, immobile, desperate, choking. _

_ The tentacles bloomed inside of them, cold spreading as the heat in their belly finally burst, steam from a kettle, breath gone and the only thing left was pleasure. Nothing more than a doll, any longer, when Ebrietas set them down and returned to her prayers.  _

_ The Hunter let the water rush over them. There was no more silence. _

 

Gehrman stared. He stared hard. He stared like he was an advert for streetside shaving and they were a terrible beard. 

“...You fucked a Great One.”

“It was closer to getting fucked by a Great One, but yeah.”

“...You, the person who is meant to be attempting an escape,  _ fucked _ a  _ Great One. _ ”

“Hey, how many people can say they did the bump and grind with a god? I mean, outside of people in this city. I’m pretty sure the Byrgenwerth guy tried to fuck the moon.”

Gehrman took a deep breath, rubbing his brow, before saying, “Alright, fine, you fucked Ebrietas. You’re not known for your safety awareness skills or your moral standing. But, Good Hunter, please, tell me this.” He stared up at them, eyes hard as steel. “At  _ what point _ in that bodice ripper did you manage to tear all your clothes and  _ die? _ ”

They had the grace to look away, at least, cheeks flushing and suddenly deeply interested in the scratched workbench. 

“Um. Yeah. That was from trying to fuck the Amygdala.”

“ _ What. _ ” 


End file.
